


Ink Dried Petals

by WatchOverYourAssButt



Series: Woya's Ficlets [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 09:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7097689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchOverYourAssButt/pseuds/WatchOverYourAssButt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean ran Singer's Floral with charm, wit, and accommodation. He was decently informative with their selection of flowers, and his way with the customers was an amazing asset. Dean really valued his charm and cool, collective approach to his professionalism.</p><p>So when one of the extremely inked up tattoo artists from Thursday's Ink next door comes in one day, Dean is very put off; not by the tattoos, exactly, but because he can't stop staring, and he is find his charm and smooth nature shrinking more and more into nonexistence, because holy hell this guy is dreamy. And inked. And Dean can't stop staring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink Dried Petals

**Author's Note:**

> I am horrible with summaries sometimes, I apologize.
> 
> Heather, whom I am now claiming as my my co-conspirator in fanworks because she has been supplying half the ideas for my Destiel writing, supplied me with an AU posts she'd come across and I ran with it, because who can resist smitten Dean and tattooed Castiel?
> 
> I do hope I did the AU justice, enjoy!

 

 

Dean was not an easily distracted or flustered man, he really wasn’t. At all. Everything in his life, once he got his bearings and understanding of the situation, he could just zero in and focus on his task or responsibility.  He’d had such work ethic enough in school, really, once Ms. Harvelle had drilled his potential into him. And he’d kept that work ethic into his life now, working at his Godfather, Bobby’s, flower shop (well, it had been Bobby’s wife’s’, but when she passed, Bobby took over).

He ran the flower shop with charm, wit, and accommodation. He even liked to think at least part of the draw for Singer’s Floral these days was his very personable approach to the customers, as they had a few frequent customers that always had a smile for him, for which he always returned (and maybe a wink thrown in there, too, if it felt appropriate).

So it was very, very disarming (for various reasons), when one of the tattoo artists from the next door parlor came in one day. Honestly, when Dean first glanced at him wondering around, he resisted going for the register; his first assumption was that this guy was going to rob them, just for the hell of it, due to the look of him.

Because this dude was INKED. He wore a button up shirt and black jeans, but that button up was too white to hide the dark and vibrant colors of what was underneath, and a few top buttons were undone up top, sleeves rolled up. As the guy wandered, Dean stared at the intricate lines and designs, some empty, circular spots where he assumed there was space being left for more, here and there, with striking contrasts of inked line art and colored tats. Dean could barely make since of it all as he glanced over it intensely yet quickly. His eyes had wandered to the tattoos just peeking past the collar of his shirt, when he noticed the guy coming his way, something in one had as the other slipped into his back pocket.

Clearing his throat, Dean realized the guy was going for his wallet (so obviously not here to steal, no matter how misleading those intense tattoos had been (tattooed people had always had a level of scary to them in Dean’s mine—why would you want to endure pain, and so often, and in SUCH DETAIL?)). He calmed, and glanced up, offering his usually charming smile as he met the customers’ gaze.

Holy Jesus, did he see blue. And piercings. A few simple ones in the guy’s ears, one through the bridge of his nose, just in the right place to bring out the blue of his eyes with that steely color. He saw some healing holes at the underside of a chapped lower lip…man those lips were pink. And then this guy decided he needed to wet his lips, and Dean watched the pink tongue slip out and run of the guys bottom lip, showing off a snake bite piercing on his tongue.

Dean felt as if summer was already setting in, on the back of his neck.

He was only drawn from his very distracted, and very possibly rude, observation of the man when he finally spoke.

“Um…Hello?” the words came forth in such a deep, gravelly tone, it almost surprised Dean (and yet didn’t). It was until the guy raised an expectant brow and gave a low chuckled that Dean finally snapped out of it.

“Hi, Hello. S-sorry, how… How might I help you today?” he finally offered, his professionalism a bit shaky and he cleared his throat again, still trying to put on and wear that charming smile.

Tats laughed again, short but warming, and he raised the flower (a rose mallow) between them quite smoothly and it looked almost out of place in his tattooed grasp, yet strangely perfectly fitting. “How much for this?”

“Thaaaat would be,” Dean looked over Tats shoulder to the selection (some he knew the cost by heart, some he had to see their section in the aisles to remember) and then back to the customer with a bit of a calmer, smoother smile, “three dollars, sir.”

Tat’s nodded and fished out the proper amount from his wallet, handing it over. Dean stowed the money away in the register, taking a calming breath and looking back to the guy who was already backing off as Dean asked, “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Nope. This is all I need.” He assured him, and was out the door without much else to say.

As Dean let out a breath, it came out in a rush, as if he’d been containing irregular breathing. He took a calming breath and sighed, immediately drawn the next customer, one of his regulars and a friend, who chuckled as she was coming forth with her usual order for her sick mother. She laid out the dozen white lilies on the table, brushing back red hair behind her ear as she looked form the door and back to Dean.

“Are you alright, Dean?” she asked as she fished out her wallet.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shook his head, laughing, rubbing the back of his neck and regaining his cool. He leaned forward a bit, laughing nervously. “Was it just me, or…was that guy a little…scary?” That seemed the most fitting word right away.

She smirked a bit and shrugged. “I dunno. He seemed kinda dreamy to me.” She offered, pulling out the appropriate bills for her purchase, which Dean took with a raised brow.

“Since when do YOU look at guys with any comment on their features and their pleasing aesthetics?” he remarked, sifting through the money before stowing it away in the register and counting back her change for her.

She just continued to smirk. “He certainly seemed to inspire some day-dreamy-ness in you.” She cradled the flowers against her chest.

Dean was only briefly confused, before his face fell and he gave her a disapproving look. “Shut up Charlie. See you later.”

“Smell ya later!”

“Say hey to your mom for me!”

“I will.”

As she left, he leaned against the desk, shaking his head, because come _on_ ; he totally had not been daydreaming back there. Staring, maybe, but could anyone really blame him? That dude was just VERY distracting. It was a little ridiculous. But whatever. He’d gotten his single flower, he hadn’t stolen anything, he was practically normal, and Dean could just go about his day normal as ever. And maybe tomorrow, he could make up for his complete loss of cool today.

 

Not likely.

Because the next day, he was met with the same guy, coming in, for yet another single flower. And Dean couldn’t help trying to look a little more clearly at the tattoos.

What he saw this time was how distinct and perfect a lot of the lines were, and the color—damn, the color had Dean having to remind himself that this was some guys SKIN, because how the colors blended, were shadowed, or stood out vibrantly, it was like a damn canvas or art. The guy was gracious enough to be wearing short-sleeved shirt, a shirt that was surprisingly adorn with what Dean distantly knew was some sign or symbol of piece or love, in some other culture. But it gave Dean a chance to see that a lot of the colored images of the guys tattoos were of plants, roses or other vibrant things. Though, he thought he saw feathers poking from the short sleeve on the underside of his decently bulging bicep as he reached for a flower.

Dean had a little more professionalism this time, of course, smiling at the guy as he neared with his wallet ready, smiling smally in return.

“How much?” he asked.

“Four, sir.”

Chapped lips quirked as Tats fished out the money, and as he handed it over he looked Dean in the eye. “You’re gonna have to stop calling me sir. Sounds weird.”

“Sorry, si--…” Dean cleared his throat and took the money. “Um, thank you, for your purchase.” He offered instead, to make up for nearly slipping. He handed him back what change he was owed. Dean’s fingers grazed the inside of the guys open palm in the process, and he had to ignore a sudden urge to try and reach his fingers to trace the black lines that had reached to the guys wrist.

Pulling his hand back as quickly as he could after handing the money over, Dean tried to busy himself. He hoped the guy hadn’t noticed his wandering eyes. Either time, really. It’s totally not cool, and he’s usually very cool, decently smooth. Sure, he’s been known to be called a dork by some of his closer friends, but he’s been known to be deemed a damn smooth talker, too. This guy was just…really off-putting.

So when he heard him speak, it really didn’t help Dean’s attempt at completely ignoring his loss of cool.

“You like tattoos?”

Dean glanced up and shrugged, shaking his head in confusing motions. “N-nah, I, uh… I dunno? Why?”

Tats just laughed, the smile showing off his teeth and showing laugh lines, crinkling his face in such disarming way, Dean felt like he’d just stared directly at the sun. Tats shrugged. “You should come over to the parlor some time; we’ve got amazing artists and designers over there.”

Ah, advertising for his business, of course. Dean laughed, smirking at him. “Ah, including you?”

Tats just smiled a little wider, as if that were his answer, and left.

Dean wasn’t going to fall for such a simple tact as that; if he were going to be drawn to a business, it would either be by his own, uninfluenced interest or it would be by very intriguing and convincing salesmanship.

A sun-bright smile didn’t count.

 

 

So Dean resisted going any further than just peeking into the parlor when he would pass on his way to work, or on his way home. He had yet to even go in, and honestly, he was just too…confused by that guy to even act normally. He really ought to smack himself, because by now, he was curious enough to go in. But it was as if he wanted to know more about that guy, first. He wanted to know more about that guy, period.

Damn Charlie. He wouldn’t have been daydreaming if she hadn’t said anything, but every time the bell rang, he would have a small hope that it would be him. So maybe he could get a better look at the tattoos, or maybe have a chance to ask him who does them, designs them, why he chose them, why the piercings, what the hell are you buying a single flower for every time you come in here, what’s your name—far too many questions, and far too many slow hours with no customers where Dean was left to imagine the conversations playing out. They’d been simple at first, his poor attempt at explaining his questions away. But his imaginary self and imaginary Tats were becoming increasingly…flirty.

Sure, the guy was good looking. Dean wasn’t stupid enough to deny that. It had been two weeks since he first came in, and they talked less now apart from anything about the flowers or maybe a comment on the day, but Dean was growing distantly familiar enough. His eyes were such a damn, deep blue, he found himself wanting to find a corresponding flower to represent its color up at the front desk. He had the lightest stubble, and those lips left Dean wondering if they just looked chapped or if the guy was in real need of some carmex, which Dean was more than willing to supply. His skin, where it wasn’t marked darkly or vibrantly with tattoos, Dean noticed could be normal in some lighting, and tan in others, and just the look of the tanned spots of skin left Dean imagining this guy out by a pool or something. And where the tattoos had been intense and scary at first, Dean just…could not deny his intrigue and fascination any longer. He would almost damn near call them alluring. Not to anyone’s face, of course.

So yeah, the guy was good looking, but Dean hardly KNEW him! He didn’t have a name, the guy didn’t know his; all they knew was they worked next door to each other and that was it. Not really reason enough to pursue anyone. So why, WHY did his mind have to wander into damn-near fantasies because of this guy?

It was ridiculous.

It was the third week since he’d first entered, and by now he’d been in ten times, and Dean would no more tell anyone he was counting any more than he’d tell them how he noticed Tats looked and wandered through longer and longer each time he came in. Always left with one flower, of course. That was the single thing that never changed.

Until today, when he made his way up to the desk with two flowers. One was blue, and one was a light green color about the petals. Tats leaned on the desk, presenting the flowers between them for Dean to observe, not even bothering to ask how much anymore, already fishing out his wallet.

“Um, that’ll be eight dollars.” Dean told him, and watched him nod and lay down the flowers carefully, fishing out the appropriate money and handing it over. As Dean was putting the money away and working out the change, he glanced from the change to Tats. “So, change of pace, huh?”

“Excuse me?” he asked.

Dean shrugged, handing over the money. “You usually just buy one flower.” He told him.

Tats gave him a questioning look, before his lips quirked at the corner and split into a smile as he asked, “Do you keep track of all your customers’ purchases?”

Dean was now struggling to find a reason why, in all of hell, he had even thought he should have asked that question. He laughed awkwardly, ignoring the warmth to the back of his neck and fighting that flustered nature that this guy seemed to have fished out from Dean’s teen years and brought right back to the present to choke him with. He shook his head, “Nah, I just noticed, sorry. I was curious, was all.”

Tat’s grabbed the flowers as he put his wallet away. “Curious?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing, um, have a good day, sir! Agh, I mean—” Dean just wanted to duck behind the counter right now, but he pushed through it, because he was a man, and a man doesn’t hide behind the counter unless there’s someone with a weapon on the other side. And technically, nothing this guy had upon his person or his features could be considered a real weapon. “Enjoy your flowers.”

Dean regretted those last three words and how stupid they sounded, just as much as he regretted asking anything, but Tats laughed, and as embarrassment inducing as it was, it was also a surprisingly pleasing laugh to hear and he just laughed back and waved and went about his business, glad when another few customers came immediately after Tats left.

 

 

“Stop being so hard on yourself, Dean. I really don’t think that little fluster-inducing attraction is something you grow out of. Hell, I never wanna grow out of it myself.” Charlie was telling Dean over a cup of coffee at the shop across the street from Singer’s Floral over break. She smiled thoughtfully, looking up at the clouds as she was precariously leaning back in her chair, as Dean was. “Lets you know when something is genuine, you know? It’s frustrating, sure, but it makes you feel alive.”

Dean shook his head, sipping his drink and then taking a bite of the pie he was told by a customer behind them in line just wasn’t really healthy on its own and isn’t a proper lunch (he just nodded to the old lady’s advice, and then turned around and purchased his drink and pie anyway). “Well, I genuinely don’t know the guy’s name, nor anything else about him other than where he works.” He stated, nodding towards the tattoo parlor, Thursday’s Ink.

“Then go in there and check it (and him) out!” Charlie urged, sitting straight and normal again in her chair, waving towards the place and ignoring Dean’s hands gesture that was to tell her not to be obvious. “He’s already practically invited you. You’re curious, it’s a perfectly reasonable situation that you’re worrying too much over.”

“I’m curious about him, not his work; well, not entirely just his work.” Dean corrected.

“Yeah well, who’s to say he didn’t walk in there to buy a single dang flower for three weeks because he saw some green eyed hotty at the desk that he wanted to see up close?” she challenged with a laugh and before Dean could go about his full eye roll, she went on. “Come on, just go in there. You might actually find an interesting tattoo there, and if not, you can just get it out of your system, and maybe get a chance to talk to the guy. At least in a situation where YOU aren’t the one on the business end.”

“OR!” Dean pointed a finger at her then, suddenly getting an idea (more like a conspiracy theory). “Or, he could just be coming in there just for that reason; everyone knows I can to be a ladies and man’s man, maybe his employers thought sending their most gorgeous employee over to lure me in was a way to get some more business or at least some publicity amongst gossiping customers; Singer’s Floral and Thursday’s Ink, crossing needle and stem in the ranks.”

“…You are ridiculous, and that just sounded like some either really corny rom com…or really crappy porno, and I expect better from you, Dean.” She pointed back at him, sipping from her drink before adding, “You have far too good a taste in both to disgrace either.”

“Whatever, I’m not going until I have a good enough reason, and I’m not getting some school boy crush over some tattoed stranger, k?” He said, putting an end to it.

“Sure, Winchester, sure.” She laughed, shaking her head.

“You’re still picking me up tomorrow, right?” he asked as he was finishing up his pie with a level of concentration and appreciation all his own. He sighed a moment at the always-glorious taste, before getting back to his question. “Bobby’s still too busy to come pick up the Impala to check it out, and he’s got me running the shop and everything so I haven’t had the time to figure out what the hell’s wrong with her myself.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ve got you covered.”

 

 

Turns out, she didn’t have him covered. She called, just as Dean was closing up late (he’d had to do some clean up and disposal of some of the older plants, and a bit of paper work sorting in the back for Bobby), to let him know that she was tied up at the moment. He would have been angrier with her, because he distinctly heard her mood-music in the background, and some girl sing-songing her name, but she firmly reminded him about last Valentine’s Day and the rain incident, so he grumbled his fine’s and talk to you later.

Now, he just had to figure out who he should call, or if he should just take advantage of a nice walk (that old ladies judgmental tone and gaze was settled in the back of his mind every time he tasted a remnant of cherry pie on his teeth).

Scrolling through his phone, he considered who would be close enough, and available, when he heard a distinct roar rearing down the road. He could tell it was a bike, of course, but he didn’t bother looking up until he realized it was getting closer and louder. He watched as the driver of the Harley Davidson, adorned in black jeans, a red leather jacket, and a safety-conscious helmet pulled up towards the curb in front of the shop, seeming to be stopping there very intently.

Dean wondered at the driver for a moment, but not long, as the driver removed his helmet, and he was met with the familiar scruff, the slightly curved chapped lips, and striking blue eyes of the very man he’d been trying not to think about all day. And the helmet seemed to provide Dean with more fodder for his fantasies because damn, it made such a _hot_ disarray of Tats jet black hair, which he didn’t bother to fix. Dean was thankful for that.

“Hello.” He greeted with a smile.

“Hey.” Dean responded lamely, looking around and clearing his throat as he stepped closer.

“You’re here late.” He remarked, which left Dean wondering if this guy to some level kept track of how late Dean was usually here.

He just shrugged, though. “My boss needed me to handle a few extra things as he was too busy to come in today. I just finished up. You’re here late, too.” He pointed out, wondering if he’d regret that, but he went on. “Have some designs you left in the parlor or something?”

Tats just shook his head. “Nah. Just noticed you were still working once the shop was closed. I had to run some errands and if you were still here once I came back by, I was going to offer a ride. I noticed that old car of yours hasn’t come roaring by here for a few days now.” His lips quirked as he mentioned the car in such an almost playfully judging way.

“I prefer to call her classic, not old, thank you.” Dean defended his Baby without hesitation. “And she’s currently awaiting some TLC, so, I was depending on my friend to come take me home…”

Tat’s glanced around, then back to Dean. “Your friend on their way?”

“…Not on her way here, no.” he remarked, and as the guy looked confused, he shrugged. “She got tied up.” He stowed his keys and phone away then.

“So…?”

“So…what?”

Tats laughed, leaning on his helmet. “You need a ride or what?”

“I…It’s not that far, I could probably walk, man, its fine. You barely even know me, you don’t have to—”

“What’s your name?” he asked abruptly then, taking Dean aback for a moment.

“…Dean. I’m Dean, my names Dean.” He managed to get out finally, and ignored the turn in his stomach as he was about to ask Tats name, before he said it himself.

“Cas.” He smiled, finally running his fingers through his hair.

“Cas? Short for Casper?” Dean joked, curious.

Cas shook his head, lowering his gaze and the lowering of that smirk of his told Dean that maybe he preferred Cas. “No, uh… Castiel.”

“Oh…that’s an interesting name.” Dean nodded, really liking the sound to it. It was unique, and kind of beautiful.

“Yeah, interesting’s a word for it. So, there. We know each other’s name, we know each other’s professions, we know that we’re both professional, decent people. I think that’s enough to warrant a friendly ride.” He reasoned, reaching back for an extra helmet and offering it. “I don’t mind to offer, or else I wouldn’t have.”

Dean made a face, before resigning to accepting, because he really didn’t have reason enough to deny. He wanted to ride, he just didn’t want to admit how much. He told him the address and then took the helmet, and slid it on first, feeling a little silly (because how often do you see someone with a helmet on and zero leather, plaid in its place?). He quickly slid on behind Castiel, a little awkward at first as he tried to situate himself so he wasn’t leaning on him too much. Castiel just laughed.

“It’s fine, you know. Safety’s more important than awkward first times, and you’re gonna have to hold on.” Castiel told him over his shoulder, before slipping his helmet on.

Dean almost hated how at ease and calm and smooth this guy was, more because it contrasted blaringly against Dean’s own fumbling nature over the last month. But he wrapped his arms carefully around the guys waist, just in time for the bike to roar to life, rumbling beneath them, and then they were pulling out into the lane and down the street.

Dean held a bit closer to Castiel when they started moving, but as he felt a growing excitement and thrill as they were picking up speed, he couldn’t help sitting straight enough to watch the town flash by around them. He’d not had many chances to ride bikes in his life, even if his friends used to comment on how perfect his legs would fit riding one. But what few chances he’d had, he loved and it was strangely even better here and now. Maybe because he could actually watch the buildings fly by without worrying about keeping his eyes on the road.

And then he felt a hand on the back of his, where it rested on Castiel’s hip (he tried to ignore how his hand had moved to settle there), and that hand was guiding his more around Castiel’s waist. That raised all kinds of intriguing but unexpected flags in Dean’s mind, which had him wondering if Charlie had been right about Castiel’s motives for coming into the shop, and if he had extra, ulterior motives for driving him home now. Dean wasn’t sure he was prepared for this…

“Hold on, making a few turns ahead!” Castiel called over the roar of the engine and rush of wind, it muffled by both their helmets, but it was loud enough that Dean made sense of it.

Okay, so the change of Dean’s hold on his waist wasn’t for any ulterior motives, but still; Castiel really didn’t know Dean enough to be offering him a ride, so this could still very well be filled with other intentions.

And when the time came, Dean could hear Charlie in his head egging on his suspicions and expectations for a ‘Do you think I could see you outside of the shop sometime’ or a smooth, discreet-yet-not-so-discreet ‘Here’s my number, in case you need another ride’ from Castiel. She was far too loud to ignore as he climbed off the bike.

He removed his helmet with a chuckle, offering it back to Castiel who took his own off for a moment. Dean looked up the walkway to his little building, one of those two part apartments, his neighbor just happening to be his brother. His car was parked in the grass, where it had been for a while now, and he looked back to Castiel then, smiling. “Thanks for the ride, I appreciate it. I wasn’t sure I was up for a brisk walk.”

Castiel chuckled and nodded, glancing down at his helmet and then back up to Dean as his tongue flicking out to wet his lips (either he did it slower now, intentionally, or Dean’s obviously-crushing mind was visualizing it that way, because he just followed its movement, paying special attention to the two circular ends pierced in his tongue and trying VERY hard (and failing) to not imagine what those two ends would feel running across certain sensitive parts of his body).

Dean lowered his gaze, to at least shut down some of those thoughts before his face got too red—it was late, but there was enough light and street-lamps out to make a blush apparent.

Finally, Castiel spoke, drawing Dean’s attention up as he said. “Anytime, man. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dean was confused, and a little disappointed, as Castiel stowed away the passenger helmet. He didn’t hesitate after that to slip his helmet back on, though he did lift the visor as he looked to Dean, those eyes so perfectly framed, leaving a chill falling down Dean’s spine. Shit, he was so screwed, and this guy probably wasn’t even interested. Just interestING, and nice, and freaking breathtaking.

Dean smiled, forcing it a little, but keeping it there. “Yeah, I’ll see you, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes crinkled a bit and Dean could only assume he smiled, before he shut the visor, the bike revving and roaring before he pulled off again, riding off down the lane and leaving Dean planning how he would make Charlie pay. What for exactly, he wasn’t sure, but he’d make her pay nonetheless.

 

 

Now, Dean was but looking forward to and dreading the next purchase from Castiel. He wanted to see him again, just because, he could no longer deny he had a thing for the tattoo artist. But, Dean was bad with these little distant infatuations, because he’d had just a few too many unrequited ones, and the disappointment could last a little too long before he shook it. So he’d really prefer to just let it all go.

And then Castiel decided to not show up for a whole week, and Dean was just…really on edge. So he finally did what he told himself, and Charlie, he would not do.

He went to Thursday’s Ink, for no other reason than to see Castiel.

And he was so deprived of his guilty pleasure of brief interaction and getting to see him and be left with those stupid daydreams, that he was extremely determined to get some answers. On his way on break, he had been determined to ask his most important; would he be interested in a date. That would at least put an end to Dean’s ridiculous suffering. But once he was finally pointed to the back of the parlor by the other employees and found Castiel at one of the sectioned off desks (they were like cubicles but not as cramped, and totally personalized and covered in ink and art and other such personal affects or work), the first question that came out of his mouth when Castiel asked in his surprise ‘What’s up?’, ended up being, “…Is this why you’ve been buying all those flowers?”

Because he noticed them, each and every single flower, had been dried and preserved and hung up over the top of the cubicle. And he noticed a lot of scattered sketches with the flowers laid out over the desk, in the floor, pinned up; some were colored, some were just line arts. He noticed then a weird but intriguing sketch, of a handprint, with two different types of flowers seeming to sprout out around it, and Dean assumed from the shading and texture between the hand print and the growth, it would look semi-realistic and as if the flowers were growing out around the printed flesh.

The sketch was sitting under the preserved blue and green flowers Castiel had bought.

Dean finally looked back to Castiel, to see the smooth, cool, almost unbelievably fascinating man…actually look flustered for a moment, as if he wanted to hide his work, but he didn’t. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he answered. “Yeah. Um, just been working on some designs to maybe start putting out there for the customers; we get some of the proceeds when our art is chosen by a customer. Some of them I plan on using to fill up my own.” He explained though, pointing to some of the open spots on his arms and Dean really took in the reality of the fact that Castiel was sitting in a black tank-top.

Dean cleared his throat. “O-oh. Well…your sketches are amazing.” He complimented, and Castiel gave that half smile and nodded his thinks, swerving in his wheeled chair until he faced Dean fully, ink-sleeved arms resting between his open legs as if he were waiting for Dean to go on. “Sorry it took me so long to come and see any of this.” He laughed awkwardly.

Castiel chuckled and shrugged. “You’re here now. Though I have to ask, what finally made you decide to come see the place?” he quirked his head sideways.

Dean laughed, scratching absently at the back of his head. “Ah, probably not what should have brought me here.”

Castiel raised a brow. “What’s that mean?” he crossed his arms, and oh, did the inked biceps bulge ever so slightly.

Dean bit the inside of his lip before sighing, feeling the heat creeping up his neck, very much hoping it didn’t get to his cheeks any time soon. Should he be honest? Should he ask the question he was here for, or should he just make up some sort of bullshit lie? He could say he was getting interested in a tattoo.

“Dean?”

“I could lie to you and say I’m here because I’m interested in getting a tattoo but honestly, I came here to see you.” Dean blurted out, and though he was embarrassed, he was also relieved to just let it out. Well, it wasn’t ALL of what he should let out, but he was getting there.

Castiel seemed surprised by that, eyes widening just faintly, and he sat a little straighter. “See me for what?”

“…I don’t know.” Dean laughed and shrugged. “I mean, I kind of…wanted to find a smooth way to…” he sighed,  “Honestly, I wanted to find a way to see if you were interested in me without making it too blatantly obvious that I was interested, but that’s impossible, so I came here to ask if you’d be at all interested in a date. With me.”

Castiel quirked his head again, that half smile quirking on his lips as well. He was obviously amused at Dean’s fumbled attempt at asking him out, but the smile looked pleased enough, too. “Why’s being smooth so important?”

“Because, I usually AM smooth when it comes to this stuff, but you’ve completely ruined that for me.” Dean decided to accuse.

Castiel narrowed his gaze at Dean, and actually laughed. “How have I ruined that?”

“Because, you’re just so…” Dean tried to use his hands to emphasize his descriptive word, waving his hands at all of Castiel, but he never managed to find the word, dropping his arms at his side. “I don’t know, you’re just so…interesting and intense, and that’s just visually, and you just left me with questions every time you came into the shop, and I was sort of in denial of my interest in you at first because your tattoos scared me and—”

“My tattoos scare you?” Castiel asked, and he almost sounded offended.

“Scared. Past tense. I had this weird thing with extensive tattoos, I just…never understood how people could endure having so much of their body marked up like that. I mean…it hurts like hell, doesn’t it?” he asked after explaining.

The offense faded from Castiel’s face as he smirked. “It does your first few times, yeah. In certain places, it can be pretty bad, but if you do it enough, you get used to it.” He explained. “And it’s all about what you want, why you’d want tattoos, what they say for you. Not everyone has to have extensive work done, but some of us just feel the need.” Dean noticed how Castiel’s fingers absentmindedly traced over his tattoos.

Dean’s eyes followed his fingers before he asked, “What do yours say for you?”

Castiel caught his gaze, considering answering or not, before he finally did. “Dunno… Life can be hard, but… Not all bad comes from it. My ink, it’s about…art…hope…love, dreams. My art is what I want from the world.” Castiel had looked away as he explained, his tone very personal in its answer, before he looked back to Dean.

Dean considered this (feeling like every second longer with this guy made him more and more interesting) and asked, “Do you…design all your tattoos?”

Castiel nodded. “Not all my designs are for me, but there are a few that have a little more meaning, purpose, from my life.” He told him.

Dean nodded, eyes gliding back to the handprint and flowers. He pointed at it then, curious, looking to Castiel as he asked, “Is that one for you?”

This time, he thought he actually saw Castiel’s ears burn a little, and yet he wore a smirk as he looked to Dean. “Yeah.”

“What’s it mean to you?”

Castiel stood then. “It means I really like the flower shop.” He took a step closer to Dean then.

Well now Dean felt his ears burning, because there was humor to the curve of Castiel’s lips, and Dean was sure that bit of art wasn’t _just_ because he _really_ liked the shop. “Just the flower shop…?” this time, Dean managed that cocky little smirk he’d been trying to muster up around this guy.

Castiel stepped closer, still swearing that smirk as he stowed his hands in his pockets, shrugging. “Maybe not JUST the shop…. The atmosphere is really warm and welcoming too, I’m very fond of it.”

Dean rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Ah yes, because a flower shop is all about the atmosphere.”

“Or maybe I kept coming back because the guy working the desk was really cute, and gave me inspiration with each new flower I bought.” Castiel stated, and Dean finally felt the heat reach his cheeks, which only made Castiel smirk further, and he went on. “It was all just too interesting, I just couldn’t keep away for long.”

“You haven’t come in for a week.” Dean pointed out, trying to keep that little disappointed tone out of his voice and failing.

“Yeah, I know…I was working on that.” He pointed back at the handprint and flowers line-art.

“Oh…” Dean nodded.

Silence dragged for a moment, before Dean spotted the clock and realized maybe he should have skipped his short lunch before coming in here, because he barely had time left in his break.

“Shit, I gotta get back.” He told Castiel. “So, do you…does this mean—I mean, would you like to—”

Castiel laughed as Dean sighed, giving up, and he would have smacked the guys arm for finding humor in his fumbling, but that laugh was too nice, and that smile was all gum and teeth and sunshine, so he lost the ability to be irritated. “Yeah, Dean. Yeah, I’d like to go out with you.”

“Again, it’s your fault.” He accused about his fumbling, Castiel’s smile softening into just tight lips trying to hold back his laughter. “Alright, so, um… I’ll see you after work and we can talk about it? I mean, I don’t know when would be a good time, or when you have a free evening or night or anything, but we can figure it out.”

After Dean’s rush, Castel just smirked. “I’ll pick you up after work. We’ll figure out from there.”

“Okay. Okay, right, yeah. See you then, Cas.” Dean laughed and started making his way out.

“See you then, Dean.”

Trying to hurry out to escape his growing embarrassment and perhaps find somewhere private enough for an excited fist bump, Dean heard a familiar voice call, “Hey!”

He looked and found Charlie talking with some very smitten-looking blonde artist, and Charlie looked very pleased.

“It’s about time, Winchester!”

“Oh shut up, Charlie.” He remarked, but he couldn’t really fight the smile brimming on his face. He glanced back one more time to see Castiel watching him go. It was the goodbye wink that undid him, because Dean bumped one of the tables near the door, and turned, trying to fix it, and turned back around to find the blue-eyed man curled forward laughing with his back to Dean.

He hurried out, really, r _eally_ hoping this stupid flustered shit would be out of his system by tonight. Then again, maybe he could suffer through it, if it meant he’d keep hearing that laughter and seeing that smile. He might just be able to suffer through that.


End file.
